Down the Rabbit Hole
by xMadAsRabbits
Summary: Alice Little has a scary-vivid dream and for some bizarre reason, can't wake up. At least, that's what she's trying to convince herself.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: Just Alice is mine, everything else belongs to Marvel Entertainment.**

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Chapter One

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Falling is one of the worst feelings. I guess, technically it's the sudden realization that you're suspended in midair and, depending on where you fell from, that your landing isn't going to be pleasant, rather than just the feeling of falling.

They should make adult-sized cribs a thing.

Although…I'm pretty sure those did exist, and were torture devices way back when.

I groan as I attempt to sit up, only to be pulled back down by the tangled mess of sheets and comforters—why the hell do I sleep with all of these?

Christ, I have been awake for two minutes and I've already given up on today. Between getting tangled in sheets and waking up with a strange, buzzing sort of headache, I think I deserve to just lie here for the next…eternity, or so.

However, I shot up at a sudden beeping noise, and thanks to the corner of my duvet that somehow got caught under my foot, I fell back down and hit my head off of the floor. Of course the only part of me unprotected by soft, cushiony blankets is my head. Ow.

"My aunt needs to warn me before she lets you into the loft," I say to the intruder.

"She's not home, I used the key above the doorframe," Gage replies. "And I am a concerned friend, I was just checking on you. You did that all by yourself."

I carefully untangle myself from the cotton and polyester mess that I created and walk over to my closet in search of clean clothes. Gage decides to wait until I'm completely ready, with school books in my arms, before releasing this very important tidbit of information:

"You're aware that it's almost four, right?" He asks. "You slept through the school day."

I pause. "You're kidding right?"

"Dead serious," he replies, pointing at the digital clock on my desk. The display reads 3:51pm. Well, then. It looks like I screwed up.

"What the hell?" was all I could think to say. "I slept the entire day away!"

"I don't blame you," Gage shrugs. "After the night you had?"

"What night? I crashed early last night, watching The Twilight Zone for like the hundredth time," I respond.

"You were probably hallucinating," Gage says. I frown, as he continues with: "Never mix ecstasy and alcohol, Alice. That's like, common sense."

"Hey, I've been clean since the New Year's fiasco." I reply. "I haven't even smoked Lainey's birthday gift. That's mostly because my aunt found it and made brownies, but hey, I did not eat a single one."

"Come on, Alice, lying won't help. Lainey called me for help after some insane acid trip that led her to believe you turned to stone and got zapped halfway across Manhattan. I found you passed out in Union Square and had to get you home safe at four in the morning."

"I think I would remember that happening, Gage, and I don't, so…" I clearly remember last night…Or I don't…Hold on…Yeah, no, I don't. I had some crazy vivid dreams that I don't remember, but I'm about 97% sure that I fell asleep before I found out what was in that strangely shaped box… There's no way I was involved in any of Lainey's intoxicated, late night shenanigans.

"If you say so, but I know what I saw and what I did," says Gage. "Now, put down those books. Jace got this gig at some café in Brooklyn, he wants us to see."

I oblige, but not without a slight complaint. "It better not be a jazz bar again. Hell, that last place didn't even count as a jazz bar, it was basically a Michael Bublé memorial café."

"You know Michael Bublé isn't dead, right?"

Before I can shut the loft door behind us, Gage spots my phone on the console table and hands it to me. I'm about to thank him when I notice something is way off about my phone.

"No!" I shout, jerking my hand back. Gage jumps back as I slam the door and drops my phone down the stairs. The corner of the screen shatters, but I suppose that's what I get for having an iPhone and for that sin that is supposed to be protecting it.

"That wasn't my fault," says Gage, raising his arms up in mock surrender. However, I'm less upset about the screen and more upset about the case. It's not damaged in the slightest, but it's…okay, maybe I'm overreacting, but…you know what, no, I am not overreacting because this is disgusting and I must know who is responsible for this.

"WHO DID THIS?!" I shout, pointing at the phone case that I most certainly did not buy.

"You did?" says Gage. "When you failed to take it."

"Not the screen, Gage. What kind of sick and twisted prick would replace my beautiful custom Captain America phone case with this ninety-nine cent store Batman one?"

Gage looks at me for a long time, furrowing his eyebrows then frowning. "Okay, you need to calm down. First of all, it's a phone case. It's not like someone replaced your car with a single flat tire. Second, what the hell is Captain America, and what makes him so much better than Batman? Sounds like some kind of a revamped, hipster Uncle Sam."

My jaw drops. Did he really just say what I think he said? I really hope not.

"You did not just—you can't be—you're joking. You're totally joking. There is no way any friend of mine doesn't know who Captain America is."

"Alice…do you need to see your shrink?"

My jaw clenches as I continue, "I do not need to see a shrink right now, Gage. I—hmph. I am about to go full blown geek here, so you better admit that you're joking before that happens."

Gage sighs, frustrated, "Alice, just pick up your damn phone and drop this, all right? You can tell me who Captain America is on the way if it calms you down. Fuck, I don't understand what could possibly have you so worked up."

"…?!"

oOoOoOo

"…and then, realizing there was no other choice, he crashed the Valkyrie into the Arctic, saving the world from the Red Skull. Everyone thought he died, but seventy years later, he's found by Russian scientists and taken to a SHIELD base—I explained SHIELD, right? The whole counter terrorism and intelligence agency—"

"Okay!" Gage suddenly cuts in. "Pause. Enough. Yes, you explained SHIELD. Enough. Please."

Gage makes us stop just as we reach Times Square, much to my dismay. I always hated this place. I never understood the hype; it's a total tourist trap. It's all just skyscrapers and giant flashy billboards.

Anyways, back to Gage being difficult. "I still have no idea what you're talking about," he says, "Captain America, SHIELD—is this like some new nerd thing? Extreme patriotism and cliché big-brother shit?"

"Excuse me?"

"Is it like some hipster crap from Dark Horse or is DC running out of ideas—this is what I was asking for! Not backstories and plotlines—I want to know the reason you seem to have gone batshit! Like, fuck, this is fiction, Alice! It's not shit that sparks riots, it…"

I can't quite hear Gage anymore. I'm too angry to listen, or even just to care to, because—

"DID YOU JUST CONFUSE CAPTAIN AMERICA FOR A DC CHARACTER?!"

People have stopped dead in their tracks to stare at me, the girl making a scene out of a miscommunication on nerd culture. I don't care, they can gape all they want, because I'm far too irritated to care. If Gage didn't want this, he shouldn't have pushed the idea of Captain America being obscure, non-existent, or A DC CHARACTER. NO. THAT IS WRONG AND WARRANTS PUNISHMENT IN SOME FORM.

"CAPTAIN AMERICA IS A MARVEL CHARACTER YOU UNCULTURED SWINE!"

"Jesus f—will you take it down a damn notch, Alice!" Gage hisses. "Are you on something right now?"

I have to take deep breaths before I can even think to continue. How could he suddenly be so clueless? I never shut up about Marvel! Just last week, I dragged him and the rest of our friends all the way to L.A. just to see the premiere of the Avengers at the El Capitan theater. And it's not like I'm physically angered by Gage's cluelessness, I'm just annoyed. He's being irritatingly persistent here, and it's not even a good prank, considering he has the biggest crush on Chris Evans.

"Alice, you're starting to freak me out," says Gage. "Why, why are you so worked up about this?"

I am one more ridiculous question away from screaming. The only thing really stopping me is the top of a building a few blocks away.

"Oh my—What? W-When the fuck did that get there?!" I say, in some strange half-shout, half-whisper.

Unless that is an ad, or the work of an extremely talented and extremely fast-working artist, a real-life version of Stark Tower has been added to the Manhattan skyline.

Gage quickly turns to see what has me so freaked out, but apparently doesn't seem to register the fact that someone had renovated the MetLife building overnight to recreate Stark-f'ing-Tower.

"That was not there yesterday!" I say. "They couldn't have built that overnight, that's almost impossible. There's no way that even exists—what the hell is going on?"

"…I'm going to tell Jace we can't make it and then I'm going to take you to see your therapist immediately," says Gage. He seems genuinely concerned, but for the wrong reasons. I'm fine, it's the world around me that's decided to screw with me today. "Alice?"

I stutter, trying to find words to go with this predicament, but I'm not even sure what the current predicament is. As I start to formulate a proper response, to both Gage and the situation, I'm cut off. By myself.

"Goddammit—what the—"

In all my confused rage, I fail to see the man running at full speed towards me. Until, of course, he runs into me, knocks me over, and makes me spill half a cup of boiling hot tea over the front of my t-shirt.

Gage immediately moves to help me up like the total mom-friend he tends to be. "Oh, god, are you okay?"

"What kind of question is that?" I half-shriek. Today has not been a good day for me. I glance into the still partially filled cup and start in the direction that that bulldozer of a man went.

"Wait—where are you going?" asks Gage, as he speeds up in an attempt to keep up with me.

"If I have to live with steamed boobs for who knows how long, so does that asshat," I answer. Gage starts to protest, telling me things like I'm "going to get arrested" and that he "forbid[s] me from hanging out with Lainey, she's a terrible influence" and "this is not poetic justice, this is assault, ALICE."

However, upon seeing two very familiar faces, I stop dead in my tracks. "Oh my god—Gage. Gage. Look. Looklooklook. I found the perfect person to show you just who Captain America is."

I smile back at Gage, only to find that he suddenly looks extremely concerned, maybe even a little afraid. "Um, Alice? Remember when I said I had to track you down last night? We also had to avoid those guys, minus the cute blond. And they were not easily avoided."

I laugh. "What does that mean?"

"Still being dead serious," says Gage. "We thought they were narcs, but then Lainey and I overheard some of the things they said—I'll explain later, you might actually want to stay after you hear this; come on, let's just go."

"They're actors, Gage. They're just re-enacting the end of a film. Ooh, I wonder why. Wait. Oh my god, I almost—oops."

I continue to ignore Gage nagging me to leave as I internally debate whether or not it would be appropriate to ask Chris Evans and Samuel L Jackson for autographs, considering the re-enactment isn't being filmed, but they still seemed to be in character and doing something important. Then I notice that some of the SHIELD agent extras are staring at me, along with a few civilians in the background, despite the fact that I'm not the only pedestrian that stopped to watch the seemingly random exhibition.

This little detail is enough to scare me to an extent, so when Gage grabs my arm and hurriedly drags me away from the scene, I don't resist.

Today took a turn for the weird and not so fun. Between one of my best friends trying to convince me that Marvel doesn't exist, seeing Stark Tower in person (in structure?), and Chris Evans giving me—ow—possible first degree burns, I think that I can safely say today has been the strangest day of my entire existence.

oOo


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: I think it's obvious, none of this shit is mine, other than Alice and Alice-related things, like her strange thought patterns/narrative BS and whatnot.**

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Chapter Two

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Several days pass before the level of normalcy in my life drops once again, and it drops drastically.

It's eight in the morning and I know there is no way I'm going to make it to school in time for first period. However, if I am to keep my full ride to NYU, I can't drop below a 3.7GPA, so I have to at least try and make it to school.

Miraculously, I'm able to get ready in five minutes, and this motivates me to believe that I can make it to school by quarter to nine, if I'm really, really fast.

But as fate would have it, as I'm rushing out of my apartment building, I run into a man built like a brick wall, I end up on the pavement, books and papers flying everywhere, and with a bruise forming on the bridge of my nose. It's a mess, to say the least (seems I've been good at making those lately) and I'm in utter shock as I sit here. Doesn't this sort of thing only happen in movies for dramatic effect?

"Sorry! I didn't see you there. Here," says the man, kneeling down to help me gather my things. A few pages of an assignment I'm sure was summative were lost due to some asshat cyclist passing us, but I'm too just done with the world to care. I pick up and examine the glasses that flew off my face after impact. After cleaning them on my sleeve, I put them back on—oh, wow. Not that my eyesight is that terrible, but after recovering from the impact and actually taking time to process what's happening, I see that the man kneeling in front of me is none other than Chris Evans. Huh. This situation suddenly got a lot less terrible.

Or has it? Okay, no, that wasn't…no. That phrase doesn't apply.

Or does it? Okay, sorry I'm done.

"Don't worry about it, really, it's my fault," I say. "This time."

"This time?" he asks.

"Hm. I said that out loud. Yeah, not that it's that big of a deal, but last week you ran into me and I kind of sort of spilled steaming hot tea all over myself," I reply.

"Oh. Sorry about that, I was…I was in a rush, I suppose."

"Tell that to my first degree burns. I'd show you, you know, just for proof, but I'm really not one to flash strangers. But yeah, no, it's nothing. I wouldn't expect you to break character because I was in the way. Although, it would be a good idea to maybe warn the public that you guys were using the square that day."

"…Break character?"

Hm. Maybe this guy isn't who I thought. Christ, how embarrassing is that? Everyone has a look-a-like, and don't actors have theirs rounded up? So if Chris Evans is filming in the city, they must have all his stunt doubles here, too. Damn, this is really embarrassing. Although, in my defence, the resemblance between whoever the hell this is and Chris Evans is uncanny, so if a mistake was made, it wasn't totally unwarranted. Still, in couldn't hurt to confirm. "You're Chris Evans, aren't you?"

"Er, no. Steve Rogers."

"Oh. My mistake—wait." Steve Rogers? Is this guy for real? "Ha ha, very funny. I know Captain America isn't real."

"Excuse me?"

He looks at me strangely as he helps me up. I take a step back, scanning his appearance. I guess he's dressed similarly to how Steve Rogers might dress as a man from the 1940s trying to adjust to modern times, but this has to be a prank.

"You must really like your role as Steve Rogers," I say. "Unless you're a method actor or this is a prank and I'm being filmed right now, so if that's the case—THIS IS NO LONGER USEFUL MATERIAL, YOU CAN ALL PACK UP AND FIND ANOTHER VICTIM."

Chris/Steve/Stunt double looks about wildly for whoever or whatever I'm yelling at. Or the cameras that I think I'm yelling at. I probably should've waited for an answer before yelling at the sky like I'm insane.

"I'm not sure what you mean by role," he says.

"Steve Rogers," I repeat. He's solemn. "Captain America? The super soldier, the first Avenger, whatever you want to call him—Seriously, you're known for this role."

He gives me another strange look that I can't read, and I take this as a signal to continue trying to jog his memory.

"He fought in World War II, defeated the Red Skull, saved the world from getting nuked by HYDRA—well, I guess not 'nuked' since those weapons were powered by the Tesseract—what? Why are you looking at me like that?"

He, whoever he thought he was, has been growing more and more suspicious towards me as I spoke. I don't see what was wrong with what I said, it really shouldn't be news to him that someone is a fan of his work, or knows the story to a movie as big as Captain America.

"How do you know all of that?" Chris asks, very slowly, still looking as if he'd be ready to fight me if I gave him a reason.

"I watched the movie," I say quietly, suddenly terrified.

"What movie?"

His tone is extremely frightening. This guy is not screwing around, and now, there is only one thing on my mind: Chris Evans is insane.

"Well, this was interesting. Leaving now."

"Wait—"

I turn on my heel and sprint down the sidewalk in the direction of the nearest and most crowded subway station. I am not interested in any of that, no matter how attractive he is. I don't mess with crazy. What the hell was that all about, anyway? Jesus Christ, has the entire world gone crazy?

oOo


	3. Chapter Three

**AN: Editing what has already been edited twice and rewritten is not fun...Also, must I include another disclaimer? I think it's pretty clear to everyone that what Marvel owns, I do not.**

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Chapter Three

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After that not-so-fun encounter, I hid in my aunt's loft for over a week. I think today is day twelve. This is all due to a certain someone moving into the building, into the apartment right across the hall. This someone was named Chris Evans. Or Steve Rogers, whatever he wants to be called.

What? Don't judge me. The guy freaked me out last time I saw him, I'm not exactly eager to run into him a third time.

Despite being stuck at home for twelve days, I haven't been completely unproductive. I caught up on all my school work online and finished the exam reviews early. Way, _way_ early. I also decided to do some research-like activities regarding the Marvel fandom. 'Why?' you might ask? Because, well, it's gone. It's just _gone_. Everything Marvel is gone.

It started with my phone case. Then, I noticed that every piece of Marvel paraphernalia that I owned just disappeared from my bedroom. Yeah. I cried. Tears are welling up in my eyes right now just thinking about it.

Anyway, to make things even weirder, searching for Marvel-related things on the Internet only took me to news articles and other informational texts. Updates on Stark Industries and OsCorp, interviews with Tony Stark, reports on the Harlem Incident and the mysterious hammer they found in New Mexico. There were old Captain America films, as well as history textbook excerpts on him, the Howling Commandos, and HYDRA. Superhero conspiracy theories filled online forums and blogs. Social justice blogs suddenly included mutant rights—it was all so overwhelming.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say I'm in the Marvel Universe. One of them, at least, but I do know better, so I can't be. Things are just extremely weird right now, that's all…

oOoOoOo

A week and a half ended up being my breaking point. I know, I'm weak. I couldn't stand another day holed up in my apartment—I actually ran out of decent Netflix shows to watch. After mentally prepping myself the entire previous day, I have successfully put myself in the mindset that I should get out of the apartment, at least to go to school, and be a good student for the remaining six weeks.

Unfortunately, as I'm about to leave for school, I realize that my building does not have a fire escape, so the only option for any sort of escape is walking out the front door. And, in doing so, I get to greet my new neighbour.

"God fucking dammit," I sigh. I turn to leave, but "Steve Rogers" grabs my arm and I'm stuck awkwardly standing in the entrance of the building.

"I need to speak with you," he says. It's definitely a statement, not a question—absolutely no inflection—hinting that I really don't have a choice here.

"I have classes to attend, and textbooks can be quite effective weapons in certain situations…" I briefly scan his physique, or, well, I try to make it brief. I mean, it's Chris Evans, what can I do? "…and clearly this is not one. So, you wanted to talk?"

He lets go of my arm, and I think about possibly running away before I realize that outrunning this man is probably impossible when you're short and have the lung capacity of a small child. Which I am, and do. If I even had a chance of getting away from this man, I'd need the element of surprise, which I've already lost.

Several minutes later, we're sitting outside the Starbucks down the street, while a street performer singing and playing the ukulele fills the awkward silence between us.

I hold my hand up as I pause to very slowly take a sip of my tea. I allow about two minutes to pass before I set the cup down and say, "Okay, shoot."

"I'd like to know how you knew about Captain America. And Schmidt, and the Tesseract," he says.

I'm beginning to wonder if this really is all some sort of prank. That sounded like a trick question. I mean, technically it was another demand, but still.

What the hell is even going on? I mean, assuming this is the Marvel universe, and the man sitting in front of me is, in fact, Steve Rogers—no. That's impossible. How could any of this be real? It's highly improbable that I somehow ended up in the Marvel universe. It's probably a dream, or some freak hallucination. That, or someone is trying very hard to pull an elaborate prank on me.

But, at the same time, if this is actually Chris Evans, he sure is going through a lot of trouble to convince me that I've magically been teleported into the Marvel universe. I mean, what is his deal? I have a life, I have shit to do. Being an actor, he must also have a life and a lot more shit to do than I, yet he himself even seems like he believes in…well…all of this, whatever this is. I mean, it's almost as if—

…

oOo


	4. Chapter Four

**AN: Just wanna say thank you to those that have reviewed (✿◠‿◠) I really appreciate the feedback (no pressure to readers who don't feel the need to review, I just wanted to voice my gratitude).**

 **Also, Disclaimer: ...[Yeah, we all know what goes here.]**

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Chapter Four

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"Miss? Miss, are you all right?"

I seem to have gone into shock for some time. To be honest, I'm really not sure. All I know is that after a long moment of silence, I was finally able to respond with, "This isn't real."

"Excuse me?" Steve asks.

"This isn't real, you're not real, none of this is real," I say, and repeat over and over again (or some variation of those phrases), as I rise. Before he can attempt to stop me from leaving, I sprint off in a random direction, shoving past whoever I needed to to get away from this. What 'this' is, I'm not exactly sure.

Someone is shouting in the distance, and I think it's Steve or Chris or whoever he really is, calling after me, but I don't stop, and when I do, I've managed to run all the way to Battery Park. I would've kept going if it weren't for—

"Alice Little?"

"Y-yeah? Th-that's me."

"I'm Agent Coulson with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division; also known as SHIELD. I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."

"I-I, uh, I…w-why?"

"We have evidence that has led us to believe you might be a threat to society."

"A threat to—I—what?"

"Please follow me."

I don't budge. I am physically incapable of moving. This isn't—there's no way this is—

"Ma'am," says 'Agent Coulson'.

I glance around the area of the park we're standing in and see that we're surrounded by shiny black government vehicles. The logical thing to do would e to follow this man, but I'm having trouble wrapping my head around what's happening. My state of utter bewilderment allows me to relax—or something similar—enough or 'Agent Coulson' to take me by the arm and haul me over to one of the SUVs.

He starts asking me questions as we drive off to who knows where, but the questions are…they're difficult to answer.

"This year on the night of April 16th, where were you?"

"I was at home. I spend the whole day in bed, on Netflix. I mean, a friend told me otherwise, but I really have no idea what he—"

"What friend? What did he say happened that night?"

"Gage. His name is Gage Brooks. He told me I had been out with another friend, Lainey. She's kind of…well, honesty is the best policy, right? She's…she's sort of an addict. But I would never do the kind of stuff she does…sorry, I'm rambling. According to Gage, Lainey was tripping on acid and called him for help, saying that I…what was it? I think it was that I turned to stone and somehow ended up in Lower Manhattan."

"And you have no memory of this?"

"Well, duh! It didn't happen! I mean, I can think of many ways through which it could be possible for that to happen, but when I recall what I know I did last night, nothing adds up!"

'Agent Coulson' looks at me skeptically. As far as I'm concerned, I'm telling the truth, but something tells me that that doesn't matter to him.

After a long pause, during which he makes a not-so-brief phone call, he tells me, "We're in the middle of a crisis right now, but I've just been informed that we do need to take you in for further questioning."

"Take me in…where?"

"I'm afraid you don't have the clearance to know that."

And with that, the conversation is over. This can't be happening. There's no way any of this is real. It's all a dream. That is the only possible conclusion; this is all a dream, all of this is happening inside my head. I've had dreams like this before. Not this vivid, but my dreams often take place in fictional worlds, usually the MCU or the Harry Potter universe. This isn't even all that weird now that I know it's a dream. It's just the vividness that's throwing me off.

Agent Coulson pulls over in front of Stark Tower and tells me to wait here. Not that I have a choice, as I'm shackled to the inside of the car. Hm…if this is a dream…couldn't I just zap myself out of the cuffs?

Okay…let's concentrate here…concentrate on what, though? Um…hm…the cuffs aren't there…my hands are free…I feel like an idiot…

The cuffs are gone. Huh. All right, so this is a dream. That helps my anxiety. Somewhat.

Immediately, I look up to try and formulate some sort of 'escape' route, the cuffs suddenly reform around my hands, slowly being uncovered by wisps of glittering teal and grey smoke.

Well, that as weird.

I try again, meditating on the cuffs disappearing, and they do. This time I move my hands around to make sure I'm actually free and that the cuffs aren't just invisible. They aren't, and I am free, but when Agent Coulson re-enters the car, it scares me, and either due to his presence or to the break in my concentration, the shackles reappear and I am once again restrained. I guess I haven't quite mastered lucid dreaming yet.

Coulson decides to attempt questioning me a gain. "SHIELD has two complications concerning you. One is the 0-8-4 that we are positive you had encountered two weeks ago. The second is that we have been keeping an eye on Steve Rogers, and you mentioned a few things that you shouldn't have knowledge of when you met with him earlier today."

"Oh?" was all I could think to say. I don't usually converse with the people in my dreams, not to this extent. In my dreams I'm some kind of spy or assassin. There's typically just lots of death in my dreams. I hope that doesn't mean anything bad…

Coulson continues, "Though Captain America is a household name, and history enthusiasts are familiar with HYDRA's participation in the second World War, anything to do with the Tesseract is classified information."

"Well then maybe they shouldn't have made two movies about it," I mumble, mostly as a should've-been-inner musing rather than a response.

"Excuse me?" Coulson asks.

"What I mean is there's a not-so-magical world where you, all your super-spy friends, and all super-powered and other-worldly beings are fictional characters," I reply casually. Of all the characters I could be interacting with right now, my subconscious just had to throw Agent Coulson at me. He was never a favorite of mine, though I don't actively dislike him. It's just that his scary-calm demeanor freaks me out a bit.

"Ms. Little, you need to understand that this is a very serious situation. Worst case scenario, SHIELD will want to have you terminated. It's likely you will be contained for quite some time until we can prove you're no threat to society."

I simply look at him and raise an eyebrow. I know from experience that when I try to assert dominance over passive characters in the dream world, they focus on the task at hand and let me mind my own business (yes, that's right, I am one of those people; the kind that try lucid dreaming and stuff—don't judge me). However, instead of doing that, Coulson looks back at me and asks, "Is there a problem?"

"Hm," I reply. "Yes, actually. This dream is boring and I have a better idea than whatever we're doing right now."

Coulson frowns, trying to decipher what I just said to him as if I was speaking in some strange code. Clearly, I'm not. Maybe this is like those dreams in the movie Inception, where if you focus too much on a passive character, they think you're violating their habitat or something like that. Oh my god, am I being Inception-ed right now?

"We're going to the Helicarrier," I say to him, looking him dead in the eye, using the same voice my aunt uses to train her dog. Maybe if I concentrate hard enough, he'll listen to me.

"How did you know that?" asks Coulson, suspiciously.

"I didn't, but that's where I want to go, so that's where you should take me. I mean, it's a dream, I'm sure if you ditched me or shot me here, I'd just end up teleporting up there somehow. There's a chance I'll forget this ever happened," I answer. I take my earlier statement back; this is a very weird dream. Maybe it really is like Inception and it's not even my dream. Shit, I really hope I'm not plugged into someone else's brain right now.

"Miss…" Coulson says, very slowly. "What exactly do you think is happening right now?"

"Why does that matter? Why does it even matter to me why you think it matters? What I think is happening—no—what is happening right now is that I am in a deep sleep, maybe even a coma considering how long it's been, who knows, and everything happening is all in my head. Or someone else's, I'm not sure yet. I can't expect you to understand, though. After all, you're part of the dream. All I have to do is concentrate really hard on you disappearing and you will. Be glad I have a really shitty attention span."

As expected, Coulson has no idea what I'm talking about. Again, not that it matters; none of this is actually happening. However, this dream feels so real that I would be stupid not to take advantage of it. The first chance I get, I'm ditching Coulson and then I'll get to have fun. I just have to wait out whatever this idle, boring period is.

We arrive at what in reality is the Morgan Stanley Building on Broadway, but apparently in my dream it's some SHIELD office. Jesus, what kind of dream is this? My brain's going way too into detail with this universe. And isn't time supposed to feel slower in dreams? In the sense that a minute in the real world can feel like hours in the dream world, I mean. This dream is moving in what feels like regular time and I can remember everything that's happened since I ran into Steve Rogers the first time. It's been nearly two weeks! Am I in a coma? Oh god…am I in a coma?

Coulson unlocks the shackles, keeping me from leaving the vehicle and replaces them with regular handcuffs before leading me into the building and up to the roof. There's a jet there, ready to take us to the Helicarrier, and can you guess who's waiting in it?

"'Sup Rogers," I say upon boarding the jet.

He's clearly surprised to see me here and immediately stands up and asks, "What are you doing here?"

"Well, apparently, I intercepted some eighty-fucking-something and SHIELD wants my head for it. Also, I guess some of the stuff I told you is classified?" I answer. "But yeah, that guy arrested me and now I'm here."

"You seemed pretty shaken up back there," he remarks, and still, with suspicion.

I shrug, "It's all good now that I know it's just a dream."

Coulson then butts into the conversation and starts discussing work with Steve, handing him a tablet and filling him in on the other people SHIELD is bringing in to find the Tesseract and stop Loki. As Steve scrolls through the files, Coulson turns to me again. I'm told to stay in my seat for the remainder of the ride and not to speak unless spoken to.

"Wow," I say, when he's done ordering me around. "What makes you think you can tell me what to do?"

Coulson pauses. "You do understand that you're currently in SHIELD's custody?" he says. "You were arrested in Central Park, not six hours ago. By me."

I sigh, "Whatever."

"Miss, some of the things you said on the drive here were very concerning," says Coulson. Looks like he's incapable of accepting anything I say as a normal response. How rude. Well, I know who I'm not saving later on if I get the chance. Is that unnecessarily cruel? Probably, but you can get away with anything in the dream world.

While Coulson continues a very awkward, fanboy-feels driven conversation with Steve, I decide to go over what happens in the movie in my head. Or in my head's self's head. Wait, I'm confused.

Anyway, let's let the record show that my reason for doing this is so that my brain knows not to throw in any surprises for the rest of this dream. So…

We're heading to the Helicarrier, which means the rest of the Avengers are being recruited. Loki is in the sewers somewhere and is going to be in Stuttgart…tomorrow night? Well, 'tomorrow' night. Hm…what time is it now? Hell, what day is it? Who knows, man…who knows…

Anyways, back to business; Loki is going to be in Stuttgart, we'll say tomorrow night. Captain America and the Black Widow will be on their way to Germany to capture him and will soon be joined by Iron Man. Hawkeye is poorly underused for the entirety of the film and the Avengers never use any opportunity to properly disarm Loki because Fury wants his weapon back.

Not that any of that actually matters anyway. If I focus really, really hard, I could fix everything. The question is, do I want to? Because I went extreme-fangirl when I saw the Avengers movie trailer. Imagine what happened when I saw the actual movie. Despite all its flaws, that movie will always hold a special place in my fangirl-trash heart, which I'm not sure is strong enough to mess with the storyline.

Back to the movie/dream thing that's still ongoing.

We finally arrive at the Helicarrier, and Agent Coulson is the first to exit the jet. He has a brief conversation with Agent Romanoff, who had been waiting to greet him and Steve, then he leaves. I'm left still handcuffed, standing awkwardly next to the Black Widow and Captain America.

"There was quite the buzz around here when they found you in the ice," Natasha says to Steve. "I thought Coulson was going to swoon. Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?"

"Trading cards?" Steve asks.

"They're vintage, he's very proud," Natasha explains with a smirk. Something catches their attention a few feet away. Someone, actually. It's Dr. Banner, who's looking quite antsy and out of place. Steve takes the opportunity to meet one of the men he's supposed to be working with on the mission.

"Alice Little, I presume?" says Natasha. "I'm Agent Romanoff."

"I know," I respond absentmindedly, my attention divided between, well, everything around me. Being in the presence of several superheroes—as well as a secret government division that deals with all things otherworldly and outright strange—can do that to you.

If Agent Romanoff is even the slightest bit surprised by my strange response to her introduction, it doesn't show. Of course, it doesn't show; the Black Widow is good at what she does.

"Follow me, please," she says. She steps forward momentarily, behind Steve and Dr. Banner, saying, "Gentlemen, you may want to step inside in a minute. It's going to get a little hard to breathe."

And she was right. However, I'm the only one that looked visibly affected by it. I had to actually sit down and take a few minutes to recover afterwards. Everyone else seems like they don't even realize we're currently being lifted storeys into the air. Then again, this might just mean that I'm strangling myself in my sleep with all the blankets I insist on burying myself under.

This is all so surreal, not to mention ridiculously vivid. It almost feels real.

Almost. I'm smart enough to know none of this is real. Again, that would be impossible. All I can do from this point is wait for the movie to end, or to wake up.

oOoOoOo

Getting interrogated is not fun. Especially not by an angry Nick Fury.

"Okay, this isn't the least bit amusing," I say. "Why are you mad? You're not even real," I turn to Agent Hill, who had just entered this tiny chrome honeycomb-looking room, "You're not real, either. None of you are real and I'm not sure what's going on, but this dream sucks. All you're doing is getting mad at me."

Agent Hill looks at Fury, "Her phone was searched thoroughly then confiscated. The drug test came back clean, although we did find a joint on her person upon entry. She's definitely sober. I don't know what's happening with this one."

"Mental health screening?" Fury asks.

"Old records show a history of PTSD, but she's been relatively stable since 2010, and she hasn't actually exhibited any symptoms of PTSD."

"And the lie detector tests?"

"Nothing. She's certain that she's told us the truth."

"Finally!" I interject. "Now take these freaking wires off me or I will do so myself."

And, eventually, I did. But, as I stand to leave the room, I notice that the door doesn't have a handle and there's a keypad next to the spot where one should be.

"We can't let you go," says Fury. "Not with what you know and what you've seen."

Agent Hill, however, decides to speak up, "I hate to say this, sir, but we don't have a good enough reason to lock her up."

Fury sighs irritably. I glance back at him, eyebrow raised. Soon, I hear the door behind me slide open and I finally get to leave.

But, as I'm leaving the room, I hear Fury say this: "Make sure someone's keeping an eye on her at all times. I'm not about to make the same mistake twice."

oOo

* * *

 **Alice can be a cocky little shit, can't she, I mean goddamn... well [reference to a future X-Men fic that I fully intend to post] Alice's attitude does run in the family...that could mean a number of things and it's too early in this little serial to make any sense, so that just sounded really stupid—I apologize. I have a tendency to get way ahead of myself, I really need to work on that.**


	5. Chapter Five

**AN: I'm probably going to end up posting the rest of this story by night's end; what else does a writer do when they've lost that creative spark? Edit, edit, edit...**

* * *

Chapter Five

* * *

Wandering throughout the Helicarrier seemed like a fun idea, until I found out it wasn't. There really isn't much to see, but maybe that's just because my brain doesn't have much to go off of. It's a big, chrome boat with flight capability that has SHIELD agents running around doing…SHIELD agent things. Every other room is restricted and the few I can enter are the canteen, the restrooms, and the spare bunks. I was hoping to find those old HYDRA weapons, but I'm guessing those are in the restricted rooms and I'm nowhere near strong enough to just pry one of those heavy metal doors open with my small hands and scrawny arms.

Maybe I can dream up a portal and jump over to the Harry Potter universe…Nothing is boring when magic is involved. I mean, I'm assuming.

However, instead of attempting that, I decide to continue wandering until I reach the bridge. It is the center of most of the action, so if I want to meet anymore main characters, this is the place to be.

Still, there's nothing for me to do here. All I can do and all I've been doing is walk up and down the aisles of SHIELD agents, occasionally looking over the shoulder of a SHIELD agent, hard at work (both figuratively and…ahem…literally, if I may add…ew). How disappointing. My fangirl fantasies are usually so eventful.

I groan at a volume that some might consider obnoxious, announcing, "Oh my god, there's nothing to do in this hellhole. I am done with this dream, somebody shoot me."

Sadly, no one obliges. I'm contemplating throwing myself off the edge of the Helicarrier when I notice that I've reached the group of agents tracking Loki. Well. This dream has been going far too slowly.

"He's in Stuttgart," I say. "Preparing to terrorize a bunch of rich old people at an opera house. Hawkeye is looking for iridium somewhere and Loki's team of hypnotized soldiers and scientists is in the sewers somewhere, prepping."

"And how did you come across this information?" Fury asks.

I shrug, "Watched the movie."

"And how do I know what you're saying is true?"

"I guess there's only one way to—"

"She's right," one of the agents announces. "Stuttgart, Germany. 28, Konigstrasse. He's not exactly hiding."

I smile at Fury, but he's already turned to face Steve, "Captain. You're up."

Steve nods and leaves the bridge to suit up.

"Still looking for something to do, Little?" Fury asks.

"Alice. Call me by my last name again and—wait, what do you mean?" I ask.

"Meet Agent Romanoff out on the flight deck. Go. And I better not have any regrets if and when you return."

It's about time I got roped into the action. Without a moment's hesitation, I do as I'm told. Seeing this all unfold up close? What kind of Marvel fan would I be if I passed this opportunity up? Of course, it's not technically up close, since I'm not actually here/there/wherever, but it'll feel like I am and that is good enough for me.

oOoOoOo

Almost instantaneously, it's made clear to me that Natasha Romanoff does not trust me in the slightest, which really, really sucks. Normally, in my dreams, my favorite characters are my best friends, occasionally with benefits. This Natasha just keeps eyeing me suspiciously, like she'd be ready to kill me at any given moment should she feel compelled to. Which, I guess, makes sense, considering that this is the Black Widow we're talking about, but it's disappointing nonetheless.

Steve is also quite suspicious, though on a lesser scale. At least, in the sense that I am way more afraid of Natasha than I am of Steve.

"So…the modifications Coulson made…" I say, suppressing laughter. Oh my god, this is amazing up close. "It…it looks just like your chorus girl costume. It's great."

"You know about that?" says Steve, half-cringing.

"Don't worry, I know worse things about the other Avengers…actually no. No, I don't. That is probably the most embarrassing."

"How do you know about that anyway?" Natasha suddenly asks. "The Avengers Initiative."

"I don't have to explain myself to you. This is all a dream, therefore, there are zero consequences."

"Then answer me like you're not dreaming," says Natasha.

"That's the weird question for a figment of my imagination to ask," I remark, narrowing my eyes slightly. "Then again, this whole dream has been weird. And I'm not just saying that because it isn't 'Mission Impossible' enough. Well, okay, yeah, I am saying that, but this entire thing has been so uneventful."

Natasha still looks as if she's trying to decode my every word, to no success, as I am not, in fact, speaking in code. Steve is definitely still confused, and slightly weirded out, but that face he's making is adorable as opposed to Natasha's stoic yet terrifyingly suspicious expression.

"Are we almost in Stuttgart?" I ask.

"Five minutes outside of it," says the other pilot.

"Awesome, drop me off now," I say. "I want front row seats to this thing."

"What thing?" Steve asks.

"Loki's monologue. Oh, and you're going to want to position the jet right above the plaza, outside the opera house, because Loki's going to target this Holocaust survivor and Steve needs to drop directly in front of him, shield ready—don't question me or this whole movie is going to be fucked and I don't want to be stuck in this dream longer than necessary," I explain. "I mean, I love you guys, you're like my favorite fictional characters of all time, right up there with Harry Potter—except you, nameless co-pilot, I have no idea who you are—but this is all…very boring. Yeah."

The other pilot and Natasha share a look before Natasha finally nods and the jet begins to lose altitude. See? Even more proof this is a dream. Why else would a fictional character, who is clearly superior to me in every way, let me do this? How else could I be interacting with a fictional character in the first place?

"Wait," says Steve, just as I'm about to leave the jet. "Wouldn't it be easier if I just went with you?"

"As much as I would love that…nah. See ya. And don't be late."

oOoOoOo

The opera house was easy to find. Stuttgart is insanely small and, well, it's my dream; I'm in control.

Somehow, I'm still not allowed in the opera house; this denim-shirt-dress thing I'm wearing didn't fit the dress code in the slightest, which makes zero sense. How the hell was I not invited to the event taking place inside my mind? This is confusing.

And I'm cold. Why can't I dream up a jacket or something?

Anyway, the doorman made me wait outside the opera house, which isn't so problematic, as, soon enough, shit hits the fan and people start running around screaming, trying to get away from Loki.

"Hey—Jesus Christ—stop—STOP PUSHING. Holy shit, imaginary people are still fucking rude. This does not happen in normal dreams—OH SHIT—OH MY GOD!"

…Maybe this isn't a dream.

Having been dragged into the chaos, I was pushed this way and that until my arm got caught on something. It might have been some of the oversized jewelry worn by the guests, it may have been the top of a gate or an unusually sharp corner of a concrete planter. Whatever this something was, it managed to leave a six inch long cut on my shoulder, reaching down to just above the inside of my forearm Not deep enough to see bone, thank God, or to sever an artery, but deep enough that there is blood running down and around my arm, making it look like a damn candy cane.

I press my left hand over the gash that just will not stop bleeding, both to check if it's real and to keep pressure on it just in case it is. Oh my god, this is painful. Painful and gross—oh god, there is so much blood. The wound is real. I'm actually bleeding. I'm injured, I need stitches, this is actually happening, what is going on?

Oh, God. I'm in the Marvel universe. That is actually Loki. My life really is in serious danger.

Screw kneeling and watching the show, I am _out of here_.

I try to ignore the pain while I quickly scan the area for a nearby hiding spot. There's one by a random pillar thing, hardly out of Loki's sight, but definitely better than being immediately visible.

This is awful. I want to go home. I don't want to be in this dangerous universe where my life is at risk on a regular basis.

Everything finally hit me. All at once, I caught wind of the situation I'm in. I'm in Germany because I asked government agents to drop me off here, and to do what? So that I could watch a super villain terrorize people? Who does that? I pissed off all of SHIELD, acting like an idiot because I couldn't believe that any of this could be real. Christ—I want a do-over. No, I want to go back to my old world, where I'm safe, not bleeding, and watching this all on my laptop. Back where I'm safe in the sense that there are no super villains and alien armies and killer robots and all the other fucked up things that start wars in Marvel films every four months.

Yet…in some ways…it kind of makes sense? Kind of. Not in the fact that I'm here, the fact that it's me. I mean, let's look at the facts, shall we? Who ends up in these situations in fanfiction? Girls in their late teens to mid-twenties with a conflicting personality, who just so happen to be part of the fandom who's fictional world they end up in. I have somewhat of a backstory that fits the description. Also, my name? Alice Little…Alice Liddell…as in, from Alice in Wonderland? Me in Marvel…land…hm. I'll work on that. Also, I'm slightly below average height and out of shape! Christ, this is so messed up. I remember reading all those self-inserts, thinking I wanted this to happen. I don't want this! I want safety. I don't want a premature death. I want stability, for Christ's sake. There's no way I'll ever get any of that as long as I'm here.

What if I die right here? What if I bleed out in the streets on Germany? It wouldn't even be a tragic hero's death or an epic villain's death, it would be due to a goddamn stampede of the elderly.

Christ, I can barely see the actual color of my arm, it's nearly completely stained with blood. And this is definitely not going to come out of my shirt, though that's the least of my concern.

I glance skyward, to see if Natasha actually listened to my nonsense from earlier. Maybe she or Steve would consider maybe helping me out of this mess.

Unfortunately, I don't even see the sky when I look up. I see Loki staring down at me. Yep. I'm screwed. And not the fun kind.

"I told everyone to kneel," says Loki. I suddenly slip into the demeanor I normally take on in times of distress; extremely calm and barely breathing. All I want to do is get out of here, but as I can see no escape, I try to somehow talk myself out of the situation. I admit, not the best decision.

"I-I am aware. But, in my defense…I am scared and seriously injured right now, so you should maybe consider giving me a free pass."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, like, let me walk away, tend to my injuries, or hobble off and die somewhere else far, far away from you?"

"You dare disrespect me, mortal!"

"No disrespect intended! I promise…so, uh…how about—"

"I told everyone to kneel and you will do as I say!"

"Look, this is getting embarrassing for both of us so, how about we just part ways and pretend this never happened?"

"Or you could kneel now and I might spare you."

I want to obey. Or at least, I want to want to obey. Oh, screw my goddamn stubbornness… "Can we like, compromise or something? You don't like my suggestion, I don't like yours—"

"Well, that's unfortunate then, isn't it?" says Loki. He starts preparing a ball of bright blue energy in his scepter.

And I am dead.

Not yet, though. I know it's coming. Even with my eyes shut, the light behind them continues to get brighter and brighter, and even brighter, much faster when he fires it—and when he fires it, everything feels like it's in slow motion. The blast gets closer and closer, until finally…

Nothing.

A sharp pain pierces my skull. I open my eyes, and something silver and blue and smoke-like implodes on itself and Loki is revealed to still be standing there, in shock. More glittering smoke appears a short distance behind him, swirling. It stretches out, and it becomes clear that this "thing" is a portal. Shockingly, blast from the scepter comes hurdling forward, causing Loki to face-plant.

Loki quickly recovers, and is clearly not happy with being humiliated in front of the people he's trying to convince he is the king of. He also seems to be blaming me for this incident.

Before I can process what may have just happened, Loki is preparing another orb of energy. Instinctively, I quickly raise my hands up, palms facing out towards Loki, and I push…something that felt extremely bizarre—almost like static without shock, or a more tangible version of that feeling you get in your chest when the bass in a song is really intense—I manage to push whatever that hell this is 'out' and the blast is sucked up into that same smoky substance. Did…did I actually just do that?

The same thing happens three more times before Loki decides that the scepter is no longer necessary.

"What have you done?!" He shouts angrily. He charges at me and his free hand goes straight to my neck. I found myself being pressed against the pillar that was supposed to have prevented this situation from happening.

I'm suffocating. Suffocating and bleeding. Oh, if there is a god, permission to end it here, please.

Wait. There is a god, and technically, he is trying to end me. Right at this moment.

Oh well. I suppose death is inevitable. Might as well just close my eyes and—

oOo


	6. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer: You already know, but I'll say it again; I own nothing except my OC Alice Little and her odd perspective.**

* * *

Chapter Six

* * *

Captain America's shield does not work like a boomerang. Steve Rogers has to calculate exactly where to throw his shield, from what point, and the direction in which he must run in order to catch it. This is one of the many reasons Captain America is a badass and no one can tell me otherwise.

Anyway, that's how he saved my life. Technically.

While I was being strangled by Loki, Steve dropped down somewhere behind him and threw his shield at Loki's head. It hit it's mark, but Steve forgot to add in the fact that Loki was wearing a metal helmet and had me held at eye level…yeah, long story short, the shield hit Loki's head, his head went forward, and his helmet knocked me out. Come to think of it, that wasn't really a long story…

I woke up about twenty minutes later, and was moved into the Quinjet. Natasha and the co-pilot where kneeling next to me, the co-pilot just having finished stitching my arm up. Upon seeing me awake, Steve approaches us, asking if I'm all right.

It takes me a moment to remember and attempt to process where I am and what is currently happening. All I'm able to manage in response to Steve's concern was, "I, um…I'm good. My arm hurts like hell, as does my head, but I'll survive." I add the 'hopefully' in my head. I try to stand and he moves to help me up, but I assure him that I can walk fine on my own. I return to my seat and soon enough, we're on our way back to the Helicarrier.

I'm still processing everything that happened and everything that's still happening. So…I really am in the Avengers universe. Huh. That…that sounds completely insane, even in my head. How? How is this possible?

It's not even like I just got dropped here. Nothing's been exchanged or taken away from the world I knew, but things have been added—superheroes, aliens, things like that are the only differences. Other than that, everything else has been fairly normal.

Except how I didn't die when Loki tried to kill me.

I don't understand. I have this huge gash in my arm from a relatively natural cause, but I'm able to defend myself from magic with ease? Since when?

Jesus Christ, what the hell is happening to me? Am I going crazy?

oOoOoOo

"Who's the kid?" I hear Tony ask. "No, wait, better question; why is there a kid here?"

"That is a very good question," I answer, and it is. Why does SHIELD find me so dangerous and untrustworthy that they have to keep such a close eye on me? Also, WHY THE HELL AM I IN THE MCU?

"Do your parents know you're here?" Tony asks, in a somewhat condescending tone.

"That depends on how you want to look at it," I respond.

"Meaning?"

"They've been dead for like four years."

"Ah, so you're another orphan for SHIELD's collection."

I laugh, even though the situation didn't really call for it. He has a point. The only one in this jet that still has any family is Loki, and he's rejected his adoptive parents.

"So what's her story, Romanoff?" He asks, turning to face the agent in question. "Child Genius? Master Assassin?"

"Film junkie," I decide to say, for lack of a better descriptor.

It starts to rain outside, and it doesn't start lightly, either. It's pouring, almost violently, and lightning flashes across the sky every other second.

"Where is this coming from?" Natasha asks, not directing the question at anyone in particular. The jet shakes in another flash of lightning. Loki is gripping his seat, looking towards the ceiling in worry.

"What's the matter?" Steve asks him. "Scared of a little lightning?"

"I'm not overly fond of what follows," Loki replies.

"And enter Thor," I say quietly. Before anyone can ask what I meant by that, something heavy lands on the jet. Or rather, someone.

Tony puts his helmet back on and powers up the suit, then opens that rear hatch of the jet.

"What are you doing?" Steve asks.

Thor appears on the lowered hatch. As Thor approaches them, Tony lifts a hand and prepares to fire a repulsor beam at Thor, but before he can, Thor swings Mjølnir and Tony is knocked backwards into Steve. Thor lunges for Loki and snatches him out of his seat. Closing his fingers around Loki's throat, Thor flies out of the jet with his brother. Tony follows them, and Steve, after him.

Natasha lands the jet not too far from where Loki is. I search for the button Tony had pushed earlier, then walk out onto the edge of the cliff.

"Hey," I hear Natasha say. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To talk to Loki?" I respond. "If I'm allowed to, that is. Just…I don't know if you saw, but something…happened back there, and I have a feeling that there's a chance Loki might know something."

"Hold on," she says. I wait a few moments before she steps out of the Quinjet and heads towards where Loki is, strangely enough, waiting patiently. She turns around briefly as if waiting for me to follow. Wait, she doesn't mean…Well, then. I guess it is for security purposes. I'm smart enough to know that one should not argue with the Black Widow.

We get to the end of the cliff and Loki is nowhere to be seen. Did we go the wrong way? Oh my—did Agent Romanoff lead me out here to push me off?

However, she starts to carefully descend down the edge of the cliff. Oh. I see now. There's another level to this cliff, about ten feet below. I must not have noticed it from further back. I slowly attempt to follow Natasha down to the next level…and promptly fall off the hill. Luckily, I fell on my uninjured arm. Unluckily, I now have one stitched up arm and one scraped up arm.

When I get back to my feet, I see Loki sitting on the other edge of the cliff, facing me and looking quite amused.

"Shut up," I say, unable to think of a better response.

"I haven't said anything," Loki points out.

"You've calmed down considerably," I say. "You lost your shit back there; you tried to kill me."

"And yet here you are, speaking to me as if I didn't."

"Maybe I have a death wish. Just kidding. I'm actually curious about something. But first, not that I'm complaining, how are you so relaxed all of a sudden?"

"I'm unarmed and slightly injured. There'd be no use in challenging you now, no matter how small or weak you are."

"True—wait. Hey! You know what, insults aside, I need to know what happened back in Stuttgart."

"I'd like to know as well."

"Oh, like you don't already. You did something. You always do something. That's how it works in fanfiction and in the comics; I am here because of you, when shit hits the fan, and it's this weird, it is Loki's fault. What. Did. You. Do?"

"I didn't do anything, nor do I know of this…fan-fiction you speak of."

"Well, if you didn't do anything, then how am I in an alternate universe with the ability to do whatever the hell helped me avoid death-by-magic three times?"

"Have you maybe considered that it was you who did that? How would it benefit me to grant a pathetic mortal with such power?"

"Pathetic? Excuse me?"

"Maybe that's why SHIELD thinks you're a threat. They know you're some sort of aberration and want you detained."

"So, the conclusion you've made is that none of this could possibly be your fault and I am, simply put, a freak."

"Yes."

"That's interesting coming from the Frost Giant."

Uh oh. Why did I say that? Why did I say that? How stupid can I be?

It's at this point that Loki blows his freaking top, "What did you say?!"

"That was a nice talk, we should really…never do this again—I'm gonna go now," I say, rushing back to the Quinjet. Natasha returns shortly after, with Loki in tow. Oh dear God, this is going to be a long, awkward ride back to the Helicarrier.

oOo


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer: Nothing has changed; I still only own my OC Alice Little.**

* * *

Chapter Seven

* * *

Upon returning to the Helicarrier, I'm patted down, taken to medical, then given a change of clothes. Thank God it's not one of those glorified onesies the rest of these guys are wearing. Although, this navy blue SHIELD tracksuit isn't that much nicer. For a secret government subdivision, they sure aren't subtle, what with their giant logo printed onto the back of the sweater.

After a quick, very uncomfortable shower, I decide to visit the canteen. Now that I know I'm not dreaming, the rest of reality has set in and I realize that I haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours.

I find a place to sit, away from the SHIELD agents, and pick at…this can hardly be called food, I'm sorry. It's like meal replacement drinks, but in varying consistencies. There's a portion of beige mush, beige brick, and beige protein shake and all of it tastes like…if beige was a flavor, pretty much.

And if that's not enough to put me in a terrible mood, I also have a headache. Not a normal headache either; there's a strange buzzing in my skull again, like my head is full of…bees? For lack of a better comparison?

Anyway, it feels a lot like whatever the hell it was that helped me escape from Loki, only it's internal this time. I also remember having a similar feeling the day I ran into Steve—or rather, when he ran into me.

Well. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Although, I don't think Steve would appreciate that comparison.

"How are you holding up?" he asks, pulling up the chair next to me.

"Let's see; both my arm and my head hurt like hell, and I'm sleep-deprived, yet somehow unable to sleep…so I think the right answer is 'Not too great'," I reply. "And this food is tripping me out. What is it? They turned 'bland' into its own independent substance! But enough of my complaints, what about you? You got dropkicked into a different era of time, my world just seems to have shifted a bit."

"What do you mean by that?" Steve asks.

"You got knocked out in 1945, then woke up in 2012, I think the weight of the situation—" I stop, noticing that Steve is trying to recapture my attention. "Oh, you mean the other thing…"

I'm silent, and Steve takes this opportunity to elaborate. "Here; let's start with what you mean when you say you've been dreaming this entire time."

"Um, i-is this another interrogation? I swear, I know nothing! If anything, you'll end up with more questions after talking to me, and everything I know has been described as complete and utter bull—"

"Hey, hey, take it easy. I'm just trying to see if I can figure some things out myself."

"Are you sure? No one's making you talk to me?" I ask. Steve shakes his head 'no', and I hesitate. "You really wouldn't believe me if I told you what I think is happening—not that what I think is happening is definitely what's happening, but it's something. A theory. Sort of."

Steve shrugs, "Try me."

Poor guy has no idea what kind of bomb I'm about to drop on him. He woke up seventy years after he thought he died, and in those seventy years he hasn't aged at all. That's already a lot to process and now, I'm about to suggest the existence of entire alternate realities, specifically one where he's not even a sentient being.

Still…he asked.

"All right then. Where I'm from, none of you—none of this, any of this, is real. You're all fictional characters part of a fictional world that I've invested way too much time in. Anyway, I'm the only one that seems to know this, so to me and me alone, none of you are—or, I guess now, were—real. Maybe I just didn't want to believe any of this was happening. Besides, the whole situation seems highly improbable—See? You don't believe me. I bet you think I'm psychotic or something."

"Hey, I should be turning ninety-four this year, if not dead already, but I'm still here, and looking like I did seventy years ago. Today, I dueled with a demigod. It seems anything is possible these days," says Steve.

"Well, that makes me feel slightly less insane. Slightly. It'd make me feel a lot better if you had actually said you don't think I'm psychotic…Just kidding. Except not really—anyway, if you haven't already, you should head to the lab. Aside from Stuttgart, everything's gone according to film and I don't want to screw anything up for the Avengers, so you, lab, now."

I place the tray, still full of 'food', on the dirty dishes rack and leave the canteen in search of the sleeping quarters. Along with not eating for over twenty-four hours, it's been about a day and a half since I woke up and got whisked away by SHIELD.

God, I really hope me being here doesn't mess everything up. And if it does mess everything up, I actually hope I don't survive the film. Yes, it's a morbid thought, but as far as I know, it'd be all my fault if everything goes wrong and that means I deserve to die. Unless it means that I should suffer in a world under Loki's rule…

Whatever, now's not the time to get into the whole death vs. extended suffering debate. Debates with myself always go on forever, and I don't think I can survive much longer without sleep.

I finally find the sleeping quarters as well as an empty bed, and I'm able to drift off pretty easily, after being awake longer than any human being should ever have to be. My last thoughts before falling asleep are whether or not I'd be okay with waking up in my world.

oOoOoOo

When I wake from my nap, it's all thanks to the stupid default iPhone alarm. My first thought is that I'm back in my normal, boring old dimension. Then I hear people running, and when I swing my legs off of the bed, my feet hit the cold metal floor, rather than the faux fur rug I have in my bedroom.

As it turns out, the noise I'm hearing is not the default iPhone alarm, but a warning for the SHIELD agents that for reasons unknown STILL EXIST.

I stumbled out into the hallway—well, really, hopped out into the hallway, trying to put my shoes back on as quickly as possible. Okay, from now on, only low-top shoes for me.

I narrowly avoid getting caught in the crossfire as I run almost-aimlessly through the maze that is the Helicarrier. After what felt like hours, but in reality, probably wasn't even a full minute, I manage to run into Thor.

"Nope. Uh-uh, no way, not—No." I say, ready to march off in the opposite direction. Unfortunately for me, heading in the opposite direction meant stepping in the middle of intersecting hallways, through which, rogue agents were firing at…um…non-rogue agents, and were being fired at. Thor saves me, however, and thank goodness, but still, he does so by pulling me along with him. Right into the holding room.

"No!" Thor shouts, as 'Loki' is released from his cell.

"Thor, that's not—" I shout, but to no avail.

"Are you ever not going to fall for that?" Loki asks. His gaze darts over to where I'm standing. I throw my hands up in surrender and begin to back away slowly, before breaking off into a sprint down the hall.

Suddenly, I'm struck with an excruciatingly painful burning on the side of my ribcage. My hand jumps to the affected area to see what the hell is going on there, and I notice there's a hole in my sweater. I think I just got grazed by a bullet.

As much as I want to just slump against the wall and cry, I force myself to keep going, away from the now-retreating rogue agents, and I reach the bridge just as this chaotic episode comes to a close. Agent Hill, right away, is hounding me when I get there.

"And where have you been?" she asks sternly.

"Um, how about trying not to die?!" I shout. "Are you—are you trying to insinuate that I had something to do with all of this? I, a freaking teenager who has been under your surveillance this entire time?! You threw my goddamn phone into the ocean as a safety measure! Christ—you people are so freaking paranoid—"

I spin around to face Fury, who has just entered the bridge with Steve and Tony following close behind him. It hurts like hell to move even an inch, and I regret the action immediately.

"She's injured," says Agent Hill. "Grazed by a bullet, it looks like—she needs to be taken to medical. Again."

"I've got her," says Natasha, who's entered through one of the lower sections of the bridge. An injured Hawkeye is by her side, arm draped around her shoulder for support. He's barely conscious.

"You can walk on your own fine?" Natasha asks me, and I nod. I'm told to follow her.

We don't end up in medical, despite what Agent Hill had ordered. We're in one of the bunks. Natasha straps Hawkeye down to the cot before examining my wound.

"The wound's been cauterized by the bullet, but it'd still be wise to clean it," she says. She searches through the drawer by the cot, then hands me the necessary materials to clean it, as well as a roll of bandages and a white t-shirt to replace this hoodie with a hole burned into it. "When you're done, wrap it up, just in case. Not too tight."

I nod and as she begins tending to Hawkeye and his injuries, and I proceed to clean my own bullet wound, something I never thought I'd be doing in a million years. Three days in a fictional universe, and I'm already going to have two scars to show for it. Three days in a fictional universe and I've cleaned and dressed a bullet wound. My bullet wound. I was almost-shot! Now all those stupid fangirl fantasies of mine seem ridiculously naïve.

Knowing what's coming, I move to the bunk next door. Hawkeye had begun to stir, and as much as I would like to eavesdrop, Clintasha needs to have their private moment together. I try to find a comfortable position to sit, or lay down, or even just slightly lean, but everything hurts. My head hurts, my legs hurt from all the running, my throat is all bruised up from being strangled, and my arms hurt from the cut and the scrapes, my side hurts from the bullet graze, and I am just so tired. And, again, it's been three days.

Jesus Christ, I am actually starting to wish this was all a dream.

oOoOoOo

I've long since started to drift off when someone lightly shakes me awake. It's Steve, and he's all cleaned up from the last attack, ready for the next.

"What now?" I sight, sitting up and struggling to stay alert.

"You're going home," he responds.

That definitely wakes me up. I all but leap to my feet, "Seriously?"

He gestures for me to follow him over to where Clint and Natasha are. Or, where Natasha is. I don't know where Hawkeye went.

"Time to go," he says.

Natasha turns slightly to look at Steve, asking, "Go where?"

"I'll tell you on the way. Can you fly one of those jets?"

"I can," Clint interrupts, having returned from…washing his hands?

Steve looks at Natasha and she nods to confirm that Clint is theirs again. That's enough for Steve, and he looks back at Clint, "You got a suit?"

"Yeah," says Clint.

"Then suit up."

Clint nods, but he's briefly distracted, I suppose by me. He takes one look at me, turns to Natasha, and asks, "Who the hell is that?"

"Alice," I say, before anyone else can. "Would-be ally, current inconvenience."

He seems confused, but shrugs and accepts my answer before leaving to get ready for battle.

I follow Steve and Natasha to the armory while Clint changes into his preferred combat attire. It's funny how him and Natasha just happen to have special uniforms, different colors and styles from the other agents', and they're the ones that are destined to be superheroes. Like no one ever questioned why they and they alone happen to have specially made uniforms.

Anyway, while Natasha is selecting her guns and stocking up on ammo, I allow curiosity to get the better of me.

"You still don't trust me," I say.

"And?" she replied.

"And I'm heading to Manhattan with you, your best friend, and the legend of a superhero your people recently thawed out," I add. "And…you're okay with this?"

"Whether or not I'm comfortable is irrelevant. In this business, you don't get to decide whether or not you're okay with how things play out," she says, as she checks and loads each of her guns.

Clint pokes his head into the weaponry, ending our awkward conversation, and says, "Stark already took off, we gotta head to the flight deck now."

All of my fear and anxiousness starts to set in as we walk over to the Quinjet. My heart is racing. I really do not want to be here; I want nothing to do with any of this. Shit, should I tell these guys that once they get to Stark Tower, Loki's going to fry their asses out of the air? I mean, they survive without such a warning in the film, maybe I don't need need to. I might end up jinxing it. Then again—you know what? No. I'll just roll with it. If I stand quietly in the background, nothing will change, the Avengers will win, and I will not die.

Hopefully.

oOo


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer: I continue to own nothing but Alice.**

* * *

Chapter Eight

* * *

"Are you sure SHIELD's not going to go all Division on your asses and have you all cancelled? I'm about ninety-nine percent sure that I am a fugitive and you're helping me escape."

I'm having something just short of a complete panic attack as we head back to Manhattan. Yeah, Steve said I'd be going home, but Steve is not the ring-leader around here, not yet at least. Oh god, I feel like my chest is going to explode.

"Hey, relax," says Clint. "Fury's got eyes everywhere, he knows where you are."

"What's Division?" Steve asks.

"It's from a show," I answer. "Okay, so what happens after? After the flight, what then? Are you going to have me locked up for life? Are you going to assassinate me? Can someone give me an answer that isn't vague as all hell?!"

"I can't tell if this is an act, or extreme paranoia on our part," Natasha quips.

"That's exactly the kind of answer I didn't want!" I half-shriek. I stumble forward in an attempt to glance out the window. "We're entering from the east side. We're—my aunt lives in Chelsea. My—you don't—I'm assuming we're not going to fly over and drop me off before you join the fight over by Stark Tower?"

"Looks like your luck runs out now, Alice," says Steve.

"I—What luck?!"

"Stark, we're on your three, heading northeast," Natasha radioes in.

"What, did you stop for drive-thru?" Tony asks.

"Hold on; can we stop for drive-thru?" I blurt out. "Sorry, stupid question. Carry on."

"Swing up Park, I'm gonna lay 'em out for you," says Tony. My legs start to give out as a result of my apprehension, and I hold onto the back of Clint's seat to maintain balance.

"Are you okay? Maybe you should sit down," Steve suggests. I shake my head, no; I know what's coming.

Oh, who am I kidding? It's ridiculous to want to salvage the storyline if I'm endangering the lives of four people.

"Nat?" says Clint.

"I see him," she replies.

"No no no, it's not—you're—he's—"

The next thing that comes out of my mouth is a scream. The blast from Loki's scepter hits the Quinjet and in no time, we're rapidly losing altitude, as the jet spins out of control and fills up with smoke. Steve braces himself on the back of Natasha's seat, and Natasha grips onto the sides of her own. Clint strains to regain control of the aircraft, in hopes of a relatively safe landing. And me? I'm struggling to keep to the part of the jet that isn't going up in flames (or rather, going down). Hell, I can't even keep either foot on the ground, and I feel like my arms are going to be ripped off due to the death grip I've got on the pilot's seat.

But, as planned and hoped, Clint is able to 'land' the jet—even if he did so by crashing it into a building—and we make it out safely. 'Safely'.

"We've gotta get back up there," says Steve, as he and the other two Avengers present glance up at the tower. I'm preoccupied with basically hugging the ground below me.

"Holy shit—land. I'm never flying again. I can't feel my legs," I say. My reunion with the world is cut short when I see that there's an overturned Volvo next to me, with the dead driver all mangled and bloody, his hand nearly completely severed from the wrist. I think it was the 'nearly' part that grossed me out the most. I quickly stand and steady myself on the corner of a nearby bus shelter, "Oh god, I think I'm going to be sick. What the—"

I'm interrupted by a loud, very unpleasant, mechanical growling sound. We all turn to see what I think was called a Leviathan, in the films, but don't quote me on that. Let's just call it a…big…metal…fish monster…? Or something.

Anyway, legions of Chitauri jump down from said big metal fish monster and start wreaking havoc on Midtown Manhattan.

"So, um, sorry if this is totally inappropriate," I say slowly. The present Avengers wait somewhat impatiently for me to continue, "Can I go home?"

"Not yet, it's too dangerous," says Clint. "We have to issue an evac, we've got civilians trapped here."

He gestures over to the people stuck in traffic, and trapped in buildings. Loki sends a scepter blast our way and I'm pulled down with the others in hopes that the overturned taxis and the damaged bus would protect us from the Chitauri warriors that suddenly surrounded us.

"They're fish in a barrel down there," Steve remarks after taking a quick glance over the taxi and seeing the helpless people try to avoid the burning cars and debris that Loki and the Chitauri were sending their way.

Natasha takes one look at Steve, then at the civilians, before standing. She fires at two of the Chitauri approaching us and is soon joined by Clint and his arrows.

"Take her with you," says Natasha to Steve, pushing me closer to him. "We've got this. It's good, go."

Steve looks at Clint, "You think you can hold them off?"

"Captain," says Clint, tapping a few buttons on the grip of his bow. "It would be my genuine pleasure."

He reaches over his shoulder to grab an arrow, turns, and fires it without a moment's hesitation. The arrow pegs the central Chitauri warrior in the forehead, and as the alien collapses, the arrow fires two smaller projectiles at the two surrounding Chitauri.

Well then. Who needs superpowers when you can do that?

While I'm being distracted by Hawkeye's, for lack of less juvenile word, skills, I suddenly find myself being dragged along all the burning wreckage by the wrist, with a Super Soldier hanging on the other end of it. I'm too distracted by the sheer shock of what's happening to register that every inch of me is still in pain. That is, until we stop.

"Ow, ow, _ow_ —oh dear god—everything hurts," I say. "Hey, Steve? How about a warning next time?"

But Steve isn't listening to my complaints, as he's too busy giving orders to a pair of very confused policemen.

"I need men in these buildings," Steve says. "There are people inside and they're going to be running right into the line of fire. You take them to the basement or to the subway—you keep them off the streets. I need a perimeter as far back as 39th—"

"And why the hell should I take orders from you?" asks one of the cops. I remember scoffing at this scene in the theater, but watching it happen in person, it really is kind of an embarrassing experience. Really, why would these pigheaded, probably fascist policemen consider listening to a man that looks like he just left some sort of pride parade and a currently-undead-looking teenager.

Of course, Steve does get the chance to earn, in a way, respect and authority, by fighting off two Chitauri soldiers, which included him ripping the arm off of one and using it as a weapon against the other. Where the hell did the whole 'Captain America is innocent and pure' thing come from?

The cops are at his beck and call in no time, getting backup and starting a proper evacuation. I mean, wow. Go Steve. Except not, because he then turns to me and says, "Go with them."

"What? No way! I'm not going with the damn cops in a crisis that calls for superheroes! Besides—behind you, upper left—I feel like I'm too far into this whole thing to back out," I say. I pause, thinking about the situation for a moment, "Hm…I have an idea…"

"What?" Steve asks, but I'm too busy taking advantage of him being distracted by Chitauri.

"Hey!" He calls after me, but the Chitauri are outnumbering him, requiring Tony and Thor to come to his aid. After I think I'm far enough away, I glance back to see if anyone had followed me. No one did, and they're all currently standing back to back, the Hulk having joined them, with the Chitauri circling above them. I switch over to the sidewalk, where I'm concealed by all the wreckage piling up on the street.

So here's the thing: no one is taking me seriously, and no one has been taking me seriously the past couple of days. Little do they know, I haven't told a single lie since they met me. And instead of wasting my time, trying to convince them how to speed the battle up and end things in time for lunch, I'm just going to stay one or two steps ahead of them.

Okay…what's two steps ahead of them from now?

I've reached the MetLife building—well, Stark Tower, and climb on top of what looks like it was once the corner of a skyscraper, careful around the sharp edges, to see where the Avengers are now. Steve and Natasha are approaching, meaning in about ten minutes from now, she'll be looking for the sceptre. Hoping that they haven't spotted me yet, I quickly duck into the building and head towards the emergency stairs.

oOo


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer: Save my OC, I own jack shit. Also, despite what occurs below, I do not encourage underage drinking. I don't discourage it, but I don't encourage it either; just...have fun, live your life, don't be a dick. I'll stop now so you can read.**

* * *

Chapter Nine

* * *

This battle couldn't have taken place on a worse day. Scratch that, I suppose snow or hail or rain would be worse than blistering heat, but still. The last place I want to be on a day like this is the very top of Stark Tower. And I mean the very top. Not where Selvig and his machine are, but the spot above the door that leads up here.

I'm starting to regret taking Loki's helmet as a souvenir when I picked up the sceptre. At this altitude, the sun was quickly heating up the gold metal helmet as well as the sceptre, which is starting to slip out of my hand.

Suddenly, a figure falls, quite gracefully if I might add, from the sky, skidding across the roof.

And Natasha Romanoff has come to save the day.

"Doctor," she says, cautiously, as she approaches Selvig's fallen form. A piece of shrapnel had hit him a little while ago, which I'm sure should've shaken off Loki's mind control.

"Loki's sceptre, the energy...the Tesseract can't fight. You can't protect against yourself," he mumbles.

"It's not your fault. You didn't know what you were doing," Natasha says.

Selvig looks at Agent Romanoff, "Well, actually I think I did. I built in a safety to cut the power source…"

Natasha almost immediately knows what he means by that. How, I don't understand, but hey, she's the Black Widow. She's the best at what she does, "Loki's sceptre."

Selvig nods, "It might be able to close the portal. But, there was a girl…she made off with it not too long ago…"

"Ta-da!" I say with a very out of place smile, considering the situation. Natasha spins around and I toss her the sceptre, which she catches with ease. She gives me a questioning look, which I respond to with, "Now do you trust me?"

oOoOoOo

Yeah…they still don't trust me.

After the battle ended, they barred up the penthouse and locked me in before they left for lunch.

Oh, and apparently, in this high-tech skyscraper, they can't provide another separate space for Loki to be kept for the next twenty-four hours or so, and thus, I am stuck with this freaking delusional demigod with psychotic tendencies until they return for my debriefing. A should-be mythological being who, not twenty-four hours ago, did I berate for being a separate species? Oh my god, that just hit me. I mean, I am many things, but one thing I pride myself on not being is a racist.

Once the Avengers left, I lay claim the side of the penthouse with a bar, banishing Loki to the alcohol-less half. I even scratched a line into the floor with a piece of rubble. What? Tony's going to be renovating the place anyway, he won't mind a little extra damage.

After digging through the bar, I find a half-empty bottle of merlot. Hmph. I really wish Agent Hill hadn't confiscated that joint. Oh well, I can settle for alcohol.

Carefully, I bring the bottle as well as a half-full bottle of scotch and a glass over to the center of the lounge. I sit cross-legged on the floor and begin to pour a glass of scotch, very aware that Loki is watching my every move. I slide the glass over the line and glance up to see Loki shooting me a very confused look.

"You did say you wanted a drink," I explain, uncorking the bottle of wine and taking a swig. Let's hope the Avengers don't bust me for this. Imagine that; I finally prove myself innocent (at least, I'm hoping to) and they bust me for underage drinking…Maybe this is a bad idea.

Oh, to hell with it, I'm in a lot of pain, and the past three days took a lot out of me. This is what people do right? When things get really bad, raid the liquor cabinet?

Loki hesitantly approaches the crooked line I carved and picks up the glass.

"That's my helmet you're wearing," he says.

I raise an eyebrow, though he probably can't see due to the fact that his head is a bigger than mine. Hell, I can just barely see him under this thing. "It's mine now."

He takes a sip of his drink, grimacing at the taste.

"I'm guessing Asgard either has ways of getting rid of that shitty alcohol taste, or their stuff is a lot stronger than ours," I say. Uncomfortable with the awkward silence that follows, I decide to continue, "Hey, uh, I'm sorry about the whole 'Frost Giant' thing. Just want you to know, I don't think of the words 'freak' and 'Frost Giant' as synonymous, or 'Frost Giant' and whatever big word you used in place of freak last night."

He perches himself on the back of the couch. Aw man. I should've picked the couch side instead of the alcohol side. Couches aren't illegal and beat alcohol by a long shot.

Anyways, Loki doesn't respond. Not that I expected him to. In all honesty, I felt worse about the fact that I said something racist, rather than the fact that I hurt his feelings.

"I should've thought about it before I spoke," I continue. "I guess I didn't realize how bad it was, considering up until you tried to kill me I didn't think Frost Giants or demigods existed. At least I'll never make that mistake again, right? You know, now that I know? I mean, I've been called shit before too, like 'half-breed', 'mutt', even 'mulatto', that sort of thing. Then again, I was more self-aware growing up, in a sense…"

…I think I just added more 'awkward' to the awkward silence.

And yet, I can't shut up. "So, what do you think your sentence is going to be? Odin's a tyrannical asshole, but he's your father, so—"

"He's not my father," Loki suddenly hisses, nearly causing the wine bottle to slip from my hands.

"You are so lucky that I didn't drop that," I say. "If you got in between me and this alcohol—I am not going to finish that sentence because it might give the wrong impression."

"It's a bit late for that, don't you think?" Loki says.

"What's that supposed to mean? Whatever, it's not like I care what you of all people think."

"What happened to apologizing?"

"Oh. Uh, right. Yeah, I'm—I'm sorry."

"That didn't sound very sincere."

"Well, this," I say, pointing to the bruises around my neck, "didn't feel very sincere, but you don't hear me complaining. And I apologized for being a racist fuck, not for bruising your giant ego."

"Excuse me?" says Loki. "You underestimate me. Even without the scepter—"

"Oh, whatever. We both know that your fall did a ton of damage, and without Thanos, I'm not sure you can—"

"What did you say?"

Uh oh. "I said…nothing. You…are hearing things, what did you think I said?"

"Don't play games with me, mortal."

"I'm not playing games! I—"

"Hey! Do you have any idea how much that costs?"

It's Tony who interrupts; the Avengers are back, and thank god, because I managed to piss off Loki again in the short time I've known the guy. Thor is holding a pair of giant handcuffs as well as a muzzle of sorts.

"Are you even old enough to drink?" Dr. Banner asks.

"I am!" I reply. "I will be…y'know…someday…but I am old enough to drink, right now…in Switzerland."

Steve is about to take the bottle from me when Tony stops him.

"No no wait; the drunker she is, the more honest she'll be," he says.

"Tony, not everyone is as open to the idea of taking advantage of drunk young women as you are," says Natasha, as Steve confiscates the alcohol.

Tony raises his hands in mock surrender, "If it gets us what we need."

"Yeah, you're sounding increasingly rape-y, Stark, maybe quit while you're ahead?" Clint says.

Natasha smirks, "I'm not sure he ever was ahead."

"Ugh, SHIELD agents are so catty," says Tony.

Thor places the handcuffs and muzzle on Loki and the Avengers start to discuss how they'll divide amongst their two prisoners. The solution? Lock Loki in a janitorial closet while they debrief me.

"All right, Alice," says Steve. "From the beginning."

And out came everything. From the day Steve ran into me, all the way to the moment I slid that drink over to Loki. Every last detail, they heard. What I thought was happening then, what I think is happening now, and everything that took place in and/or had anything to do with their respective films, including The Avengers. I expect the worst when my story ends and I'm met with silence.

Clint asks the first question, "Why are you wearing that helmet?"

"Memories." I reply. "War trophy. I don't know, it looks kind of cool—I don't know, I like it. Is this part of my debriefing?"

"No, it's just weird," Clint replies.

Natasha looks at Steve, "Well, the story explains why she was acting so strange up until she was injured."

Steve nods, and I start to see the suspicion in all their expressions fade slightly and be replaced by possible realization.

"With what we've seen today, I'd say the theory of alternate timelines is almost possible," says Dr. Banner.

"Yeah, this could prove the whole multiverse theory," Tony adds. "Still, the only thing that did make that theory plausible was that each decision we make creates a new timeline, explaining the expansion of the universe. Parallel worlds that are selective in who's fictional and who's not? Not sure I buy it. Not to mention, that's metaphysics, not real science."

"You fell through a wormhole not twenty minutes ago," Natasha points out. That silences Tony, but in a way that is quite alarming. However, the others are too preoccupied with the situation at hand to actually acknowledge it.

"Asgard and Midgard are connected through the branches of Yggdrasil," says Thor. "The world that this young lady speaks of seems to be one that is parallel to this one, not connected."

"But then how did she end up here?" says Natasha. "If she's telling the truth, there has to be some connection."

"Do you have any idea how you got here, Alice?" says Steve.

"What, you guys are really giving me the benefit of the doubt?" I ask.

"We're just trying to make sense of this," Steve answers.

"You and me both," I reply. My voice shakes and my breathing is uneven as I try to continue. Now that the world has calmed down, my anxiety has time to really set in, and at the worst possible time. "Look, I-I have no idea how any of this is remotely possible. This doesn't happen in reality. All I know is that I am sitting in front of a team of superheroes that, two weeks ago, I could only fantasize was real, in a world that I could only experience through a projector in a movie theatre. Hell, I'm still not entirely convinced I'm not dreaming. If I knew what was happening, I'd tell you—I'd be too scared not to. But I don't. Honest."

There's more silence, and then—

"Hold on," says Clint. He looks at Natasha, "This all might have something to do with the 0-8-4 SHIELD detected two weeks ago. The one that mysteriously disappeared. She was on scene and witnesses did report seeing her disappear and reappear multiple times."

"But we never did find out what that 0-8-4 was," Natasha points out.

Clint shrugs, "Maybe she's the 0-8-4."

"What's an 0-8-4?" Tony asks.

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him, "It's a secret. And it's SHIELD's business anyway. They can deal with it if, when, and how they feel is appropriate. Alice?"

"Mm-hm?"

"I think you're free to go."

oOo

* * *

 **AN: One more chapter after this, then it's time to move on to the sequel. Which means more editing for me...*sigh***


	10. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing relating to Marvel Studios or Walt Disney.**

* * *

Chapter Ten

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After sleeping through the rest of the afternoon and most of the morning after the battle, I don't take any time getting out of bed. I run around the loft in search of any piece of Marvel merchandise I could find; any poster, t-shirt, mug, or toy—anything with a superhero theme or a Marvel logo on it. Nothing. Stepping out onto the terrace, I can still see Stark Tower in the distance, as well as the OsCorp building. I examine my reflection in the full length mirror that my aunt keeps near the front door and see that I still have all the same wounds from yesterday.

I need to be absolutely sure, though. I slowly make my way across the hall, over to what I really hope is still Steve's place. I hesitate before knocking on the door.

Maybe he isn't home. Maybe he crashed at Stark Tower last night instead. It'd make sense for him to.

Or maybe I just don't want to believe that the reason he isn't answering is that he isn't real.

But today is my lucky day. As I'm about to retreat back into my aunt's apartment, he answers, and the relief I feel in this moment shall go unmatched for years.

When he sees it's me at the door, there's surprise, but mostly confusion in Steve's expression, "Alice? Is something wrong—where are your pants?"

"Oh," I say, glancing down. "Nothing's wrong, I just needed to make sure that I was still, well, 'here'. I didn't want any of it to not be real."

"Can't say I was hoping for the same," Steve says wistfully. I want to ask him if something's bothering him, when we're approached by none other than Natasha and Clint, who had just stepped out of the elevator.

"Oh," says Natasha. "Hello, Alice. Cap, you ready?"

I look back and forth between her, Clint, and Steve. Then I remember the departure scene in Central Park. That must be what she's talking about.

"Hey," Natasha says, nudging me with her elbow. "If you can get dressed in five minutes, you can come with us. If you got roped into this mess by pure coincidence like you say, then you deserve to see it end."

"Don't wanna miss out on your chance to see the Avengers officially assemble, do you?" says Clint. Right. I forgot I told them, well, everything. Everything I knew, at least. I may or may not have accidentally made the Avengers overly self-aware about their comic book character statuses. I really hope I haven't screwed up and created a team full of Deadpools. As entertaining as that sounds, it really would not be ideal.

And so, like any other Marvel fanatic, should they ever end up in my place, I try to suppress an idiotic grin and respond with, "Sure. Why not?"

However, the send-off is almost completely silent. Thor only exchanged nods with the rest of the Avengers and the only words said are between Clint and Natasha, words that are whispered so only Clint can hear. He smiles, holding back a chuckle, which made me very curious as to what she said.

"Smile!" I say brightly, holding up my camera. Thor obliges and I'm able to get a pretty good shot of him, and with a gloomy looking Loki handcuffed in the background. "See you around, Thor. Seriously, you have to come back, and don't bring him next time. Or do, I don't care as long as he doesn't try to kill me or enslave the earth. Just make sure you visit."

"Hopefully, one day," he responds. "I do intend to return, and I look forward to seeing you all again. Perhaps next time, it will be under less ominous circumstances."

Yeah…'hopefully'. But this is the MCU. What else can we expect from it?

oOo

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 **AN: _Finally_ , it's _over_. Not to sound arrogant, but I'm actually pretty proud of how this rewrite turned out. I am definitely liking this revised version a lot better than the original. And if you haven't read the original, then... _shhh_...what original?**

 **Sequel will be called Curiouser and Curiouser. Follow me if you're interested, or just, I don't know, memorize my pen name and google it whenever you're in the mood. Again, thanks for reading and extra thanks if you reviewed and...I don't know how to end these things, so here is an unnecessary epilogue.**

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Epilogue

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Another day, another strange chrome, honeycomb-patterned room. I'm getting uncomfortable with how many times I end up in one of these, pulling a sack off of my head, yanking the plugs out of my ears, awaiting an interrogator. For an organization with enough time and people on their hands to have half of their agents playing civilian roles, they sure like to keep people waiting. Or maybe that's just special treatment reserved for yours truly.

It's been roughly six weeks since the battle of New York and yes, I have been in trouble that many times since then. Don't ask—SHIELD is just super paranoid. Paranoid to the point where I was arrested for discussing classified information in public—I was talking about Legend of Zelda with my friend Jace, and whichever SHIELD agent was tailing me that day happen to misinterpret my use of the word "shield".

I hear the door slide open and surprise, it's Nick Fury himself. No, really, I'm actually surprised. He's like, the head honcho or whatever updated term has replaced 'head honcho'. The second time I was taken to a SHIELD office, I had asked if Fury was the one I'd be speaking to, and I was laughed at. Never did that again.

"What did I do now?" I ask impatiently, as if I have something important I need to do.

"Nothing this time," he responds. He's carrying a briefcase, but apparently it's not for me, or at least not yet, as he sets it down beside him and leans back in his seat.

"Then, why am I here?" I ask. "Is this another Tesseract situation? Oh, god, please, don't let it be another Tesseract situation. You have the official looking briefcase and everything and—sorry. You can talk."

But he doesn't. He simply clicks open the case and in it is…

A shitload of papers. Well, this is underwhelming.

"Oh. Cool. Read material," I'm unable to speak in a voice that doesn't sound completely sarcastic and monotone. "You shouldn't have. You really, really shouldn't have. Really. Why? Why do you hate me, Fury?"

I take the first stack of papers out of the briefcase and quickly scan over the first few pages.

…Uh oh.

"This is—no. This isn't what I think it is, is it? No. No, no, no. No."

"As much as I disagree with the Council's decision…" Fury sighs, "They want you to join SHIELD. And no, you don't have a choice."

oOo

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 **I guess that wasn't entirely unnecessary. Alice being forcibly recruited on the Council's orders...kind of a significant little detail. Oh well, thanks for reading ^w^**


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